


Three Things Wicked, This Way Comes

by Le_Me



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Crack, Drama, Gen, Halloween, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Third Year, Humor, I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good, Inappropriate Humor, Mischief, Mischief Managed, No Slash, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Quests, Sneaking Out, The Marauder's Map, Three Broomsticks, Twins, sick!Twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Me/pseuds/Le_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Infamous trios have come and gone all through Hogwarts' history, culminating with the most famous set of all who vanquished Voldemort in 1998. But before this there was a trio who were infamous for a completely different reason, for they kept the balance of harmony and discord within the school...by providing all of the discord.</p><p>Hallowe'en seems as good as any time to continue good work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drafts and Draught

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, J.K has that honour. I did, however, give a name to The Three Broomsticks' waiter; I felt the bloke needed one.
> 
> A/N: No slash, no pairings, all names and places are canon. Please try not to 'Hit and Run', reviewing only takes you a minute and it's the only feedback the author gets.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Welshman was half way back to the bar, when he suddenly stopped with an, "Oh!" and turned back to face them. "I almost forgot I'm supposed to be telling people, there's going to be a Halloween party held here the week after next, fancy dress and all that jazz. Madam Rosmerta's booked 'Pumpkinhead' to play so it should be a good night."

 

  _1993, 14 days til Halloween_

Rusty brown, gold and yellow-cracked leaves littered the hard ground next to the nobbled cases of fallen conkers. Pine needles wheeled in the air, and the large oaks swelled and groaned as relentless gales bombarded their limbs and left their precious seeds strewn about over the cobbled streets and crested gables of the village of Hogsmead. Smoke rose into the cold and darkening late afternoon sky from the chimneys of the many small shops and café's, visible only for a few moments, before it was taken by the wind.

The white breath of the village residents and visitors behaved in the same manner whilst they moved in huddled groups up and down the main street, chatting idly while their scarves flailed around their necks. Three of the visitors, who may as well have been residents since they visited so often, were making a beeline down the narrow lane and straight for the entrance of, what was one of Hogsmead's more popular attractions, 'The Three Broomsticks' pub; once there, they pushed open the door and bustled into the familiar warmth.

"Merlin's beard, I thought my dreads had become _possessed_ the rate they were whacking me in the face!" came the muffled voice of Lee Jordan, as he fought to detangle his head from a red and gold Gryffindor scarf. "Sodding wind, I wouldn't mind it if it did something _useful_ every now and again like blow away the Slytherin Quidditch team or blast Snape into the Whomping Willow."

"Now that would be excellent," said a rosy cheeked Fred Weasley.

"It'd be like having a greasy, sweet-less piñata," grinned a blustered George. "All you'd have to do was watch since the tree'd do all the work."

The pub was packed today with folk of all kinds. There were tables of old wizards sat in front of the snapping fire nursing pints of the finest local ales or tumblers of red currant rum and Firewhisky - smoking tobacco and laughing, witches cackled away in their small groups upon the mezzanine with glasses of wine and sherry, and a few hooded and cloaked figures sipping at spiced mead spoke quietly in the cosy corners.

The trio managed to spot a group of middle aged witches and wizards leaving a table against the far wall, so they quickly claimed it before it became occupied once more.

"Don't suppose we'll be missed, do you?" asked Lee, removing his cloak and sitting on one of the chairs.

"Pfft nah, it's Sunday, the only person who'll be wondering where we are will be Filch-"

"-He'll be perplexed as to why he hasn't found us pulling a prank yet-"

"-At this time of the day we've usually let off a few dung-bombs _at least_ -"

"-We would've if we hadn't ran out-"

"-which is why we've just been to Zonko's to restock," Fred and George replied in their usual tandem, also sitting down.

"Yeah that's true. I'll bet he's wandering through the castle right now, paranoid a Fanged Frisbee's gona fly out of one of the suits of armor or something," said Lee. He paused and considered this for a moment. "Actually, that's not a bad ide-"

"Anything to drink, guys?"

The three jumped abruptly at the sudden appearance of the tall, blonde waiter who'd apparently just materialized beside the table.

"Bloody hell Gwyn, don't do that," gasped Lee clutching at his heart.

"Sorry there boyo. Can I get you three anything?" said the Welshman, smiling handsomely down at them.

"Three Butterbeers, mate," said Lee, and they watched him nod and meander back to the bar.

"Blimey," breathed the commentator, "for a split second there I thought he was that Hufflepuff Prefect…Oh what's he called again…" He drummed his fingers on the table in thought before turning to the twins. "…You know, the blonde one who caught us last week teaching the portrait of the green parrot to swear at passers-by."

The only response he got was that of the howling wind rising in magnitude making the building creak and lurch over the odd hacking cough and pub chatter.

"Guys?" he repeated, looking at them properly.

Fred and George were too busy watching the retreating back of the waiter - elbows on the table and holding their heads in their hands - to realise they were being addressed. Lee scoffed at this and thought for a moment, he didn't want to cause a scene so he opted for the _gentle_ approach of getting the twin's attentions, and batted their skulls together with a loud THUMP!

"OW!" exclaimed the brothers, causing a few drinkers to swivel around and look at them, before glaring at the youth with gritted teeth.

"What'd you do _that_ for?" frowned George, rubbing his forehead.

"I think I'm concussed," emulated a whining Fred.

" _Every_ heterosexual bloke is allowed a 'Man Crush', everyone knows that, it's common knowledge," began Lee, "but the trick is to swoon _subtly._ "

" _…Subtly,_ " repeated George. "I've heard of that word before…"

"Can you spell that?" said Fred looking about his person for a quill.

"Sure. T-H-A-T," came the cocky reply.

Fred glared.

"…I dunno why you're so enamoured with him anyway. I can understand international Quidditch players like Matthew Echunga, my current one, but what's so special about a Welsh waiter?"

A collective gasp told Lee he'd said the wrong thing. The twins slowly moved their heads closer to Lee's and began speaking in quiet, mystical tones.

"Some say that _HE_ was the famous disguised Chaser of The Caerphilly Catapults, and that the only reason that he was dropped from the team, was because he was apparently using the _Imperius_ curse on the rival players with only the power of his mind," Fred said in a low voice.

"It's also been rumoured that he's actually the only male Veela, and that his hair has been used in many a wand core," continued George, waving a hand enigmatically across his eyes.

"I heard," said a random shifty wizard, leaning down to their level as he was passing their table, "that he once stared into the eyes of a Basilisk, and _it_ died." And he went on his way without a word.

Raising his eyebrows, Lee could've sworn the pub twaddle lifted in volume slightly after the exchange as if the room had been eavesdropping. He looked at Fred and George who were already looking at Lee, nodding in agreement at the statement of the shady man as if to say _'Yeah, you heard him.'_

"…Fair play," conceded the commentator.

"Here you go guys," the waiter said in his deep tone, jolting the group once more as he unexpectedly appeared. He placed the drinks in front of the boys. "Enjoy," he said warmly, collecting their coins and turning away.

The Welshman was half way back to the bar, when he suddenly stopped with an, "Oh!" and turned back to face them. "I almost forgot I'm supposed to be telling people, there's going to be a Halloween party held here the week after next, fancy dress and all that jazz. Madam Rosmerta's booked ' _Pumpkinhead'_ to play so it should be a good night."

The trio snapped to attention at once at the sound of the words 'party', 'fancy dress' and ' _Pumpkinhead'_ temporarily ignoring the fact that Fred was now sporting a frothy moustache or that a few tables over an elderly warlock had just that moment missed his chair when attempting to sit down and landed on the floor.

"Hogwarts students are the last people I should be telling, but you lot have habit of finding these things out for yourselves; I may as well save you the bother," said the waiter over his shoulder as he scurried over to the cursing chap to give him a helping hand.

Fred, George and Lee looked at one another with barely contained excitement. "A FANCY DRESS PARTY!"

"The _possibilities_!" cried Lee in ecstasy.

"Wait, what actual _day_ is Halloween?" asked George. "It's no good getting excited if we can't sneak out."

Fred scrunched up his face in thought. "Uh, it will be a…"

"Sunday," answered a resolute female voice from beside the table.

The three looked up, their gazes coming to rest upon the pretty, curl framed face of the pub landlady herself, Madam Rosmerta.

"ROS!" beamed the trio.

The curvy woman crossed her arms at the sight of three young men in front of her, and raised an eyebrow. "I'm not even going to ask if this is a Hogsmead weekend," she replied curtly.

The three boys lowered their heads slightly and gave out quiet sheepish laughs.

"Never mind, I'm not going to tell on you. I need all the customers I can get these days with all the dementors floating about, and the lergy claiming half of my locals on a regular basis."

"Can't really avoid that, tis the season," reasoned Lee.

"It still looks fairly busy in here," said George peering about, as if said virus was going to suddenly come in through the door and order a pint at the bar.

"Ah yes, well you can thank the new waiter for that," said Rosmerta, looking over at the blonde who had successfully albeit ungracefully managed to help the elderly chap to his feet, and was now forced to reluctantly listen to the old man tell a story of how he'd once fallen off his broom during a flight over a local forest, and had only managed to scare away an approaching bear by transfiguring himself into a gramophone and playing 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love' by Celestina Warbeck.

She lowered her head and bent slightly over the table, giving George a lovely view of her cleavage, and began speaking quietly to the three as if about to divulge a large secret. "The gossips say that he's the only one who's ever managed to produce Mandrake wine, and even after being subject to the fatal cries - which he survived - he successfully made enough to fill several polypins and sold it to a couple of buyers in Aberystwyth."

Lee snorted. "Harry Potter eat your heart out," he mumbled into his tankard, rolling his eyes.

No-one appeared to've heard him though as Madam Rosmerta stood up abruptly. "Anyone who's prepared to risk their life for brewery is welcome to work in _my_ pub!" she exclaimed, clapping her hand onto the table in emphasis. "I only hire the best, you know."

"Speaking of _hiring_ , he mentioned that you'd got _'Pumpkinhead_ ' to play for the Halloween party you're throwing!" said Fred. "Why didn't you tell us before? Costume preparation takes time!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, I only managed to secure them last night," she tutted at the pouting redhead. "No point in spreading word of a party if your entertainment hasn't gotten back to you yet."

Fred suddenly let out a gasp as if a brilliant idea had just popped into his noggin at these words. "Will you let us on the _Guest list?_ " He bounced in his seat, looking up at her. "There _is_ a Guest list, right?"

Rosmerta sighed as if she knew this part of the conversation was going to happen. "Yes, there i-"

She didn't get to finish her sentence however, as the sudden sight of Fred pulling the largest puppy dog look he could muster complete with stuck out bottom lip stopped her in her tracks. The twin's eyes got impossibly wider at her hesitation, emphasizing the big, hazel orbs and the endearing freckled cheeks underneath. She'd always had a soft spot for them...

"Oh alright-"

Fred and Lee whooped and high fived.

"-but I'm warning you three," she went on, wagging a cautionary finger. "Any misbehaviour from now until then and you can kiss that privilege goodbye. A few barrels of butterbeer went missing last week from the cellar and I've yet to catch the culprit or _culprits_ ; suffice to say I've put up some new locking wards to prevent it happening again. If I find out it was you three you'll be getting more than a removal from the party, I can assure you that."

Lee shifted slightly in his chair whilst Fred looked at her with a feigned expression of utmost indignation.

"However, innocent until proven guilty I suppose. I shouldn't even be letting you come in the first place what with Sirius Black on the loose and everything, but knowing you lot you'd probably turn up anyway," she reasoned, before turning to look at them directly. "Next Saturday night, 7 o'clock; just try not to get caught will you," she stated, turning to walk back to the bar.

"You're a diamond, Ros," said Fred to her retreating back. He could've sworn he heard her mutter something like 'Going to regret this…' but he shook the thought from his mind and turned back to the others. "Wards, eh? Damn, she's learned."

"Well chaps you heard the lady; Operation: 'Subtly-create-Halloween-costumes-and-sneak-out-of-school-on-Halloween-without-anyone-noticing' is now in effect!" smiled Lee, rubbing his palms together.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "…S.c.h.c.a.s.o.o.s.o.h.w.a.n?"

"I'm useless at acronyms, don't judge me," he mumbled.

The redhead shook his head, coughed a little and turned to look at his quiet twin. "You alright there Georgie? You're looking a bit flushed."

"Hmm? Wha-? Oh I am? Must be coming down with something, it's a tad chilly in here," he said, coming out of his daze and overzealously rubbing his arms.

Fred raised an eyebrow but still nodded. "Yeah it is. I wouldn't be surprised if this place had multiple gaping holes in the ceiling, it's so old and dilapidated. They've probably just covered all the cracks in the walls with all these clocks and knick-knacks," he said, gesturing to the space above the fireplace covered in brass plates and mounted antlers.

"Speaking of clocks, we should probably get going," said Lee, peering at the one above the mantel piece. "Time's getting on a bit and Honeydukes should be closing soon."

"Yeah alright," agreed the redheads, and the three friends finished their drinks in one large mouthful, before getting up with a scrape of chairs and donning their coats and scarves once more.

"Think we should start preparing tonight?"asked George as he followed Fred and Lee towards the entrance, doing up buttons as he went.

"We've got plenty of time for costume production but I think we should come up with some ideas at least," said Fred putting on his hat.

"Yes, yes but before that, there's something of a higher priority that needs to get done this evening..." said Lee opening the hatch and stepping over the threshold. "Filch, a suit of armor, and a Fanged Frisbee."

The last thing heard within the pub after the door slammed itself shut behind the three boys, was the clinking of pint glasses connecting with the ale sparklers, the typical merry prattle associated with a room full of equally merry pub-goers, and the laughter of Fred and George quickly drowned out by the howl of the roaring night.

 

_To be continued..._


	2. Dessert and Deserters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had the twins not been feeling like death, and nobody had felt the need to keep reminding them how much they resembled it, they probably would’ve found this particular day to’ve been profusely more enjoyable than usual; the amount of chaotic circumstances that had occurred was quite atypical for one thing.

_11 days til Halloween_

It was official, Hogwarts had too many spires and too many trusses; well, not officially, but it _was_ the general consensus reached by the sleep-fogged minds of Fred and George Weasley as sunlight blazed into the 5 th years’ room at the ungodly hour of eight o’clock on Wednesday morning. The position of Gryffindor tower and the way it towered over the rest of the castle, meant that it had been rendered vulnerable to the daily, glaring annoyance that was the sun’s rays reflecting off of the many slanted roofs and directly into the windows of the Gryffindor dorms. More annoying still was the realisation that the Ravenclaws – who should’ve had the same issue – didn’t even have to put up with it; purple curtains apparently do a splendid job of keeping a room pleasantly dark, unlike the Lions’ red and yellow which seemed to only amplify the problem.

Usually, the twins – and most of the other dorm residents – would simply groan up a storm upon awakening , attempt to hide from the infuriating brightness, and upon failing to do so, heave themselves from their beds, get dressed, and curse Godric Gryffindor for not realising the design flaw on the way to breakfast. This morning, however, only partially followed this routine.

“Rise and shine!” came the shrill voice of Lee Jordan as he pulled open the curtains on each of the twin’s four-poster beds.

He got a response in the form of two muffled moans.

“I’ve just been informed by our good friend Kenneth Towler that there’s pancakes in breakfast again! If we hurry, we might _actually_ get some this time,” he went on, fixing the two with an indicative look regardless of the fact that they had their heads buried into their pillows and thus couldn’t see it.

Fred sat up with a grumble and a cough. “Wasn’t our fault last time, just slept in a bit is all.”

“Whoa, you don’t sound good, mate,” said Lee, now deciding to keep his distance from the bed just in case there was the slightest possibility that pathogens could jump. “I see you still haven’t shifted whatever you’ve got.”

“It’s probably just a cold, it’ll disappear soon enough,” Fred went on with another cough, noticeably rougher and deeper than the last.

Lee winced. “That sounds nasty, maybe you should just see Pomfrey, you two’ve been getting worse and worse ever since we got back from the pub on Sunday.”

When the three had gotten back to the castle that night, Lee had insisted they go ahead with his prank and plant a Fanged Frisbee in one of the suits of armour; a few stink pellets dropped in the corridor as bait and Filch had come running with his mop, ready to disembowel the guilty just as planned. The trio were hiding around a corner when George had launched into a sneezing fit which had almost gotten them caught; well they would’ve gotten caught if Lee hadn’t charmed the frisbee to fly out from its hiding place at full speed and make directly for the face of Mrs Norris, distracting the caretaker beautifully; she’d needed a haircut anyway.

“And have her fuss over us and probably make us stay in the hospital wing for the rest of October? No thanks,” said the paler than usual redhead.

A groan in the bed beside Fred’s told Lee that George had just entered the land of the living.

“This must’ve been the lergy Ros was on about,” he rasped, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

Lee looked at his watch. “Almost quarter past eight. We’ll have to go now if we want anything decent for breakfast.”

“Uhh, it better be good this morning,” George wheezed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing up, soon followed by Fred.

Lee turned to look at him. “There’s pancakes! Well, there probably won’t be any more judging by the time…”

Breakfast started promptly every morning at half past seven, finishing shortly before the first bell at nine o’clock. Food came on a first come first serve basis, so if one slept in even a little bit, you could bet your bottom dollar that any speciality items such as waffles, full Englishes or pancakes - that only got served once in a blue moon – were probably already massacred by the rest of the school by the time you got there.

This seemed to perk up the bleary twin as he started to look for his uniform. “Guess we better get a move on then.”

“The elves hardly ever make them either, I’m not missing them again. If you two don’t start getting better by tomorrow you promise you’ll see Pomfrey?” asked the commentator with a fixing look, arms akimbo.

“Yes mum,” came the double reply, before a pillow thrown at each of their faces effectively concluded the dorm conversation for the morning.

* * *

The rest of the day seemed to go by in a haze of light, sound, and queries as to whether Fred and George were feeling alright. The twosome, in exasperation, ended up drawing a crude tally chart on a bit of parchment that showcased the amount of times their health had been brought up. ‘You should go and see Pomfrey’ currently had three marks, ‘That’s a nasty cough’ had four and ‘Bloody hell you two are quiet’ ranked the highest with nine. It wasn’t long, however, until Lunchtime finally rolled around and the pair could avoid the cosseting glances by hiding amongst other students at the lunch table. The duo and Lee entered the Great Hall, spotted a few places at the Gryffindor table and claimed them in preparation for dinner.

Had the twins not been feeling like death, and nobody had felt the need to keep reminding them how much they resembled it, they probably would’ve found this particular day to’ve been profusely more enjoyable than usual; the amount of chaotic circumstances that had occurred was quite atypical for one thing.

During their double first period, Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid had acquired a pack of crups for the class to study. They were small and playful, resembling Jack Russell terriers with forked tails, and were just as energetic. One way to keep a crup stationary long enough for you to draw and make notes on the little blighter, was to leave a small pile of treats on the ground, and pray to Merlin that it didn’t make the connection between the forever replenishing pile and the small bag of the snacks hanging from your side, otherwise you’d basically end up like Lee had: pushed down to all fours by a swarm of them with the youngsters frantically trying to get at the food, whilst some of the older males, ahem, mistook the poor youth for an advertising bitch.

Defence Against the Dark Arts later that morning was almost as wayward. Professor Lupin had entrusted the group with _Flamma Securus_ the flame-freezing charm; roughly translating as ‘To make safe the flame’. When cast correctly, the charm will render any nearby fire harmless, simply causing the individual to feel a mild tickling sensation when engulfed in it. It was infamously used by the medieval witch Wendelin the Weird who, enjoying the sensation so much, allowed herself to be caught and burned at the stake 47 times using a variety of disguises.

Lupin had instructed the group to fire small flames from the ends of their wands towards their partner whose job it was to perform the charm and thus protect themselves. It wasn’t a particularly difficult spell to perform, however it _was_ an example of one of those times in which pronunciation of the incantation was absolutely vital; Lee, upon firing said small flame at Fred, learned this the hard way when Fred, speaking the incantation with a sore throat, mispronounced ‘ _Securus’_ instead saying _‘Securis’_ which unfortunately means ‘hatchet’ in Latin; in the commentator’s defence, not even the greatest witches or wizards probably would’ve been able to save _their_ eyebrows when suddenly face to face with a flaming battle-axe either.

“It’ll make you feel better.”

Lee looked at George bitterly - well this is the expression that George _assumed_ he was trying to convey - whilst pushing away the bowl that had been offered to him back across the Gryffindor lunch table. “The day only started 5 hours ago, and in that time I’ve been _manipulated_ by one of my own dorm mates _, mounted_ by a pack of horny dogs and almost _MELTED_ by a fire spell. Jelly isn’t going to make me feel better,” he said tightly.

George quickly swallowed his mirth – with much difficulty - before shrugging his shoulders and pulling the bowl closer to himself. “Suit yourself, more for me.”

“Yeah,” rasped Fred, the pain in his chest preventing him from laughing shamelessly. “I still can’t believe Kenneth told you there was pancakes when there wasn’t, so we’d rush down to breakfast and he could help himself to your supply of dung bombs; bang out of order.”

“I think we’re starting to rub off on people,” said Lee grumpily.

“Well, if _we_ don’t, the bulbadox powder waiting in his pyjamas surely will,” Fred smirked.

“You know, it’s times like these I’m ecstatic I didn’t end up dorm-mates with you three,” came a voice from beside the table.

The three swivelled their heads round to face the person that’d just addressed them; they needn’t have, however, as the voice held the unmistakable Scottish burr that belonged to Oliver Wood the 7th year Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. His eyes swept over the twins before it landed on Lee, causing his expression to slowly contort from calm and collected to one of mild inquisitiveness.

“Wh-“

“-DON’T ask,” Lee interrupted.

“Err, right,” Wood said gingerly. He decided not to press, and turned to the duo beside him instead. “I just came over to tell you two of some changes I’ve made to the Quidditch practise timetable. Instead of the usual Tuesday and Friday we’re now going to do a Monday and Thursday because there’s a clash with 3rd and 5th year Astronomy classes in the evening; it’s all got to do with Mars… _exploding_ or something which Professor Sinistra has deemed so important it warrants a timetable change; can’t be helped.”

Fred and George nodded.

“Practise will start at 7 o’clock, and I must warn you, the Bludgers haven’t taken too kindly to being locked up all summer; they’re particularly vexed this year so keep that in mind when you’re out there on the pitch.”

The twins once again lackadaisically dipped their heads in confirmation, bleary-eyed and appearing only to be half listening.

“Bloody hell you two are quiet, feeling ok?” inquired the Captain.

Upon hearing these words the pair immediately, not before marking down a new tally mark upon the parchment, snapped to attention. When it came to Quidditch, you couldn’t get more of a competitive soul than Oliver Wood. Although he was he strict, determined, and driven he also had the annoying tendency to turn into the twins’ mother at the drop of a hat; unfortunately for the duo, this meant that if the Keeper noticed any sort of illness or malady within a player which could jeopardise Gryffindor’s chances of winning a match, they’d be quickly scolded and frogmarched to the hospital wing before they could say ‘Firebolt’. This was out of the question.

Fred cleared his throat and began speaking a lot clearer and louder in an attempt to appear healthy. “Wha-? Us? Oh yeah we’re fine, minor cold but it’s on its way out. Just a bit tired, nothing though, stayed up a bit late last night, didn’t we George?”

George caught on and began improvising. “Yeah we got a bit hungry round midnight and nipped to the kitchens, almost got caught by Filch, had to leg it round the castle for a bit in order to lose him; nightmare! Didn’t get back to the common room for ages! Ready to collapse, we were.”

The twins finished their tale by looking up at Wood with the same overly innocent expressions that they used on their mum all the time.

Wood looked over Fred and George with a mildly sceptical demeanour, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. “…You’re looking rather pale.”

Fred feigned instant shock. “Pale? Us? A couple of Weasleys, PALE? Why this is outlandish!”

“Absolutely scandalous!” continued a dramatic George. “What dark sorcery is taking place in our midst to make US, a pair of _redheads,_ PALE?”

“I’ve never heard the like!”

“I may never look in the mirror the same way ever again!”

“VOODOO, I tell you-“

“-ALRIGHT, enough already,” interrupted the Captain, not bothering to hide his exasperation. When the twins began speaking in tandem like that you were hard-pressed to stop them, the only shot you had was to get in early before they acquired momentum, and even then your chances were low.

“Forget I said anything-“

“-Always do,” muttered Lee.

“–and just be at the pitch for 7 o’clock tomorrow night.”

“As you wish, oh esteemed Cap’n. A rapturous event it shall be!” came one overly jolly reply.

“Positively CORKING!” followed the other.

Oliver let out a large lungful of air and turned away from the threesome to head back the way he’d come from, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath.

Lee thought he heard ‘…contact Magical Environmental Regulation Committee,’ ‘radon gas seepage levels’ and ‘craziness’ but he ignored it and swivelled back to the twins.

Lee put his elbows on the table, threaded his fingers together and began staring off into space as if considering something. “Hmm let’s see...8 out of 10 for improvisation, 4 out of 10 for delivery, and 7 out of 10 for believability.”

“Thankyou Judge Jordan, but I think you’d best stick to commentating,” remarked George.

Lee narrowed his eyes at the two, but they quickly widened again when he noticed the time on his wristwatch. “Ooh blimey, lunch is almost over we’d better get to _History of Magic_ before Binns notices; well, not that Binns _would_ notice if we didn’t turn up, but McGonagall has ways of finding these things out,” grumbled the commentator.

The twins groaned. The realisation that the next 90 minutes were going to be utterly, soul-destroyingly boring was nearly as bad as having to sit through the class in the first place; _History of Magic_ was - along with _Divination_ and _Astronomy_ – one of the more pointless and uninteresting subjects that OWL students had to suffer through, according to Fred and George anyway. Professor Binns’ droning voice and the way in which it could easily serve as a substitute for _Dreamless Sleep Potion_ meant that most students did badly in this subject; the fact that anyone passed at all was a miracle in itself.

The bell suddenly chimed, marking the end of lunch and bringing the brothers out of their reverie. The hall full of students suddenly rose from their benches, raising the volume in the process, and began chatting animatedly to their friends as they made their way out into the corridor. The twins swung their legs over the bench and stood up behind the table, but instead of following the crowd, they turned towards Lee, lowered their heads slightly and fixed the youth with what appeared to be genuine looks of utter sadness; Fred took a handkerchief from out of his pocket and began wiping at his eyes melodramatically.

“Wha-“

“We just want you to know Lee, old chum, that we’re going to really miss you,” said George, cutting off the confused commentator.

“Why-“

“We know we’ve never really said it, but you’ve been one of the best mates we’ve ever had,” continued Fred, sniffling loudly and handing the hanky over to George.

“Bu-“

“We’ve had some excellent times, they will be greatly missed.”

“Will you-“

“Brilliant adventures which we’re sure you’ll agree have been second to none.“

“Stop-“

“And we say from the bottoms of our hearts, that we are so proud that we got to be best friends with the only man ever to make Argus Filch physically foam at the mouth upon seeing his cat turn from a Maine Coon breed into a hairless Sphynx.”

“ _SILENCIO!”_

Fred and George suddenly found themselves unable to make a sound; they looked quizzically at Lee who was slowly lowering his wand.

“Now, I’m going to lift the spell in a second, when I do, you two are going to slowly and calmly tell me what the bloody hell you’re waffling on about, ok?”

The duo nodded.

He raised his wand again. “ _Finite.”_

Fred cleared his throat and, again, wiped his eyes slightly for dramatic effect. “It’s just that, you got done-in by Kenneth this morning, attacked by those crups in _Care of Magical Creatures_ and nearly blown up in _DADA…_ “

“Every lesson has been worse than the last, you’re obviously going to die in _History of Magic_ , probably by fatal boredom or lethal paper cut, there’s no denying it. So we just wanted to say goodbye, you know,” reasoned George.

“Ask you what you wanted to be buried with-“

“-see if you had any last requests-“

“ -aaand ask if we could have the rest of your dung bombs once you snuff it,” they finished in unison, raising their eyebrows hopefully and giggling slightly as they dodged the half-finished bowl of jelly that had been flung from the grasp of a very unimpressed Lee; well, that’s the expression that they assumed he was trying to convey anyway.

* * *

Suffice to say that Lee _didn’t_ die in _History of Magic_ that afternoon, however it was a close call; Professor Binns had decided that the class would benefit from a long and arduous lecture on Vampire legislation, meaning that the levels of boredom within the class _had_ almost reached lethal levels. It was so bad, even some of the nerds had been reduced to transfiguring their parchment into paper brooms and having races around the room behind the ghost’s head in an attempt to remain conscious.

When the bell had finally chimed, Fred, George and Lee - almost crying with relief - had bolted from room and made straight for the Gryffindor common room; Wednesdays were the trio’s ‘early finish’ day. The three friends climbed their way up Gryffindor tower, spoke the password (‘ _Fortuna Major_ ’) to the Fat Lady and entered the plush room, claiming the sofas in front of the fireplace with a series of flops.

“I honestly don’t know if I can be bothered to go ahead with tonight and all,” groaned Lee. “Feels like my soul has just been sucked out through my ears.”

Fred coughed deeply before chuckling slightly. “Yeah, that bloke could suck the soul out of a _dementor_ with that voice.”

“Too right,” piped up a raspy George, his flaming hair illuminated by the fire light. “To think, all these pointless measures in place to capture Sirius Black; the Ministry are wasting their time. All they have to do is get Binns to lecture him on medieval witch hunts and the bloke would keel over in seconds. Cart him off to Azkaban. Job done.”

“If only it was that simple,” yawned Fred, wincing awfully. “And as for tonight, well, if you want a decent costume for the party you’re going to _have_ to be bothered, Lee old mate.”

It had been decided yesterday evening that, as the trio finished early today, it would be the perfect time to have a mosey round Hogwarts and collect materials for their Halloween costumes. It had taken many brainstorms, changed minds and chocolate frogs, but the three had finally come to a decision about what they were going to be.

“Yeah,” huffed the dreadlocked boy. “I guess so. I just wish we could round up everything we need by magic; I’m quite comfy now.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” smiled Fred, stiffly getting to his feet and pointing his wand to the ceiling where the dorm would roughly be. “ _Accio list of costume materials._ ”

Within seconds, a few shouts of surprise were heard coming from the boys dorms above along with the distinctive thumps of people diving for cover. Sure enough moments later, a shabby, creased and ripped piece of parchment came flying down the stairs at full speed; Fred quickly caught it with an outstretched hand, before the inky content of the document could imprint itself onto his face, and sat down once more.

George rose from his chair, walked up behind his brother and peered over his shoulder to read off the scroll; Lee reluctantly did the same.

“…What on Earth were we thinking when we wrote this,” said the commentator disbelievingly after a few minutes.

“It’s doable,” said George with slight uncertainty.

“Doable? Look at number two! And number seven! And, oh sweet Merlin, number nine,” groaned Lee.

Fred looked at him, scandalized. “Where’s your Hallowe’en spirit, Jordan?”

The brunet deflated, visibly. "Down in Hell, next to the icecube that represents our chances of pulling this off."

“Hmm,” began George, looking pointedly at Lee. “It appears to me brother dearest, that we have a _chicken_ in our midst. We’d best get down to the kitchens right away and tell the house elves before it starts laying eggs all over the place.”

The twins proceeded to cluck and craw around the boy, flapping their arms and scratching the ground. A few 1st year Gryffindors chose that moment to come through the portrait, but upon laying eyes on the scene, they exchanged a worried look, thought better, and swiftly left again.

“I’m not a chicke-“

“BAK bakbakbak.”

“I just think that-“

“BAK BAK BAAAK bak.”

“Would you just-“

“COCK A DOODLE DOOOOO!”

“OH ALRIGHT!” bellowed Lee in exasperation.

A twin suddenly appeared at each side of the commentator and linked arms with him preventing him from escaping.

“We knew you’d warm up to us eventually,” grinned Fred as they began marching Lee towards the hatch.

“Excellent. Now operation: Gather-And-Zealously-Expand-Backlogs-Of-Eccentric-Supplies is now in effect!” proclaimed George.

Fred looked over at him after a few seconds. “…Operation: Gazeboes?”

George nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s the best we have so far I suppose,” Fred conceded, nodding with a _‘Not bad’_ type of expression. “And no-one will know what we’re up to.”

“Exactly,” agreed the other redhead.

“Liked my acronym better,” mumbled Lee under his breath as the trio exited the common room through The Fat Lady and started on their quest.

 

_Item number 1: Minnie’s hair clip_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So the boys have begun their quest to collect costume materials. Ah but who will they be? And what dangers lie ahead stealing items from the Hogwarts' faculty? Tune in next time to find out...

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I been writing this on and off for a few years now, and so I thought 'What the hell' I'll just post the thing, it may give me incentive to start on it again. Please leave a review, they really do wonders.


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